


Tarnished Confidence

by GalaxyMochi



Series: The Golden Deer Help Claude Realize He's In Love [1]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon Universe, Claude "hurts" Byleth, Claude is an okay friend and okay listener, Everyone helps him realize he loves Byleth in their own special way, F/M, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Golden Deer Route, Like a lot of slow burn, Marianne is a good friend and good listener, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Not Beta Read, Part of Claude's realization that he loves Byleth, Post-Time Skip, Self-Doubt, Self-Esteem Issues, Slow Burn, Sorry Not Sorry, Will edit later, part of a series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-24
Updated: 2019-08-24
Packaged: 2020-09-25 20:34:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20377696
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GalaxyMochi/pseuds/GalaxyMochi
Summary: Claude von Riegan considers himself the most talented archer on the battlefield. An eagle-eye sharpshooter, some would say - a sniper who has mastered the very sport and art of archery. Paired with a heavy amount of ego and too many wins on his shoulders, a wee "mishap" tarnishes the Golden boy's confidence. One particular mishap that results in the cold shoulder from his comrades, some self-reflection with Marianne, and one snoozing Byleth.Part of a short series of Claude's realizations, particularly on how he might actually love Byleth (with the help of the other Golden Deer, of course).





	Tarnished Confidence

Claude von Riegan considers himself the most _ experienced _archer on the battlefield.

An eagle-eye sharpshooter, some would say, a sniper who has mastered the very sport and _ art _of archery. And not only from the concealment of lush thickets on foot, but in the thick clouds upon the back of his wyvern, Cormag.

Don’t bother asking him to just tell you about his refined talent — Claude would much rather drag you out the gates right into the rolling fields beside Garreg Mach Monastery, and _ demonstrate _ by knocking off a pine-cone from a tree 50 yards away. Blink and you’ll definitely miss it.

(And then he’ll want to show you again until an hour has passed and you’ll have to _ lie _ and say, “yes, Claude, I _ saw _it” just to get out of there.)

On the matter of his strategies, Claude was also second to none.

Even just on routine missions, dealing with lowly thieves, Claude maintained the battlefield to keep himself one step ahead of everyone, friends and foes alike. He could only achieve that with a bow in hand and cautious distance to observe the moving pieces of every engagement. Within a couple weeks of knowing him, you’d learn that Claude was one of the few to know exactly what he was doing, what you were doing, and what the guy over there was going, regardless of lessons or practice. 

That’s what made him such a talented archer _ and _an excellent tactician. 

Fast forward five years, a couple of months and a few days, those left of the Alliance continue responding to the requests of its people. The report came in early that morning — a group difficult bandits, spotted northeast of the monastery, taking advantage of tiny villages just trying to piece their lives back together during war times. Claude, leading what was left of the Alliance, and Byleth, newly appointed commander and a pinacle to what remained of Garreg Mach, gathered the former students of the Golden Deer house, and set off.

Just hours later, they engaged with the bandits, sort of running into one another as the sun grew high in an cloud-covered sky. And with thick brush and a blanket of fog, the setting made it a difficult terrain for not just the enemy, but for their ground troops, as well. 

It was nothing Byleth and her direct forces weren’t prepared for, however. 

Leonie and Lorenz advanced fearlessly into the fog on horseback, the former swinging her powerful silver lance through the bandits. Black-armor clad Lorenz sent flurries of fire across the forest, not just to take down the enemy, but lighting the way for the ground troops to apprehend their foe. 

From above, Hilda took advantage of the overcast skies. Without warning, the girl and her wyvern dropped on their adversary, slicing axe and claws through the unexpected.

Back in the thick brush below, Ignatz, swift and careful, lead as scout for vantage points, drawing enemy fire while as Raphael slammed his massive gauntlets into the distracted. Lysithea and Marianne were not far after, channeling faith and reason to take down bandits running for the haven of the forest. 

As for their experienced archer, Claude soared on the edges of the skirmish, hovering over the trees as he let nimble arrows cut through fog. Archers of their own returned a flurry of retaliation, but Cormag rolled without his master holding fast to his reigns. And with Claude quick to the draw, those bowmen fell to arrows before they even thought to counter.

It wasn’t long before their troops gained the upper hand on the bandits. Their experience spoke volumes and, with Claude’s proficient preparation, put them over the edge before any real casualties were met. Anyone who survived the first round of blows realized more fighting would be fruitless. Claude dismounted from Cormag as his companions and troops circled back toward those left alive. Another battle won, yet, as each of the former Golden Deer noticed immediately — two commanders were missing, theirs and the bandits’. 

The remaining didn’t need to say where their boss was; Claude heard the boisterous commander before he could find his silhouette through the haze. 100 feet away and across the meadow to the left. The fog was still thick and heavy, even as clouds above began to break, but a trained ear could hear the movement, predict his motions, and ready an arrow with blue feathers as the man charged forward.

In less than a second, Claude let experience take over. One eye closed, his other lined with the shaft of his bow, arrow drawn back, and with a deep inhale and all the force pulled from his seasoned muscles, Claude let the arrow fly. 

Half a second later, the arrow disappeared into the fog and collided with its target. _ Easy, _ he thought as a cocky grin spread across his face. His ego _ shined _ . His _ confidence _ soared. The target seemed to sway and slow for just a moment, but as the bandit commander broke through the fog and trees - still yelling - _ still _ rushing toward the former students, _ everyone _saw that Claude had missed his mark. Claude’s cheeky arrogance slipped right off his face. The bandit was not charging them to attack.

_ He was running for his life. _

In horror-story fashion, Byleth Eisner, the Ashen Demon, emerged from the depths of mist and shadows behind him, moving swiftly and without emotion in her vibrant green eyes. Her sword, the Sword of the Creator, made up for the stretch of distance between them, and without a bit of emotion in her vibrant green eyes, the man was silenced and downed before he got another 10 feet closer. 

Her former students watched, eyes wide and mouths agape, not because their professor took the man down with cold blood. Rather, because Byleth took five stumbling steps toward them, and then, not at all gracefully, fall back, disappearing into the tall grass. Only brilliant blue feathers stuck out above the weeds. A young woman shrieked, a man gasped, and all but Claude stormed the field. Marianne readied her faith with a desperate prayer, Leonie disregarded nobility and shoulder-checked the _ best _ archer and tactician on the field, and Hilda was quick to make a very _ pointed _observation, with all her usual venom and bite when something goes astray. 

“You _ shot _ our professor, you _ idiot_!” 

He predicted the target’s movement, but for the first time in his life, he picked the wrong target.

* * *

Goddess forbid, Claude hadn’t killed Byleth, but he did _ inadvertently _test out a new range of tranquilizing arrows he’d been meaning to try. Hence the blue feathers at the base, he murmured, hanging back as the rest of them circled around. 

“Nice shot, _ Claude_,” Lysithea snapped. 

If he had taken another step forward to help, he was quickly stopped by Hilda’s raised hand. She didn’t even need to look up. “You’ve done enough, just stay put.” 

So while Claude just stood around like the idiot he truly was, everyone moved so meticulously, right into line after each other. A familiar picture from procedure drills 5 years ago (the war helped them stay in practice): cautiously extract the arrow, stabilize the bleeding in her shoulder, monitor vitals, assess for additional treatment, evaluate the appropriate way to move her. All said and done, one would think the young woman looked quite peaceful in the surrounding grass and wild flowers… _ if she hadn’t been dropped by a wyvern-strength tranquilizer. _

Raphael scooped Byleth into his strong arms, stepping carefully through the tall grass towards the beaten path. Right past Claude’s wide, quiet stare. His friends (if they still _ considered _ him as such) trailed after, but not before sharing their own silent disdain for the young man. Like he had never messed up before in his life. Like _ this _was the worst thing he had ever done to any of them. No scheme or prank outweighed this very moment, and Claude was feeling all that pressure on his shoulders. Lorenz’s narrow features looked even sharper with a fierce glare. Ignatz’s kind eyes shot him a look of… disappointment? 

_ Oof, from them, too? _ Claude rolled his eyes, but it was warranted_. _

Cockiness got the better of him, and now he was to suffer the consequences. 

In silence. Alone.

Even after just an hour of trailing them on foot (a _ good _ leader _ walks _ with his troops, of course, in solidarity for the fallen, even if it was _ just _a freaking bad shot and a tranquilizer), Claude could feel a wrathful storm rising from the group ahead. 

Incessant and sharpened glances over their shoulders, the low whispers (Hilda and Lorenz _ sure _ loved their whispers), and the sporadic upheaval of frustration for Claude’s “complete lack of thinking and decisiveness!” (Lysithea), Claude somehow equated the string of bad luck as _ you kicked a sweet, old nun down the Market stairs, and when she flailed her arms to grasp the air, you just pointed and _ ** _laughed. _ **

As if Claude von Riegan, crowning schemer of schemes, gifted tactician and trickster, would be ** _that _ **malevolent. It was annoyingly frustrating, to the point that when Hilda shot another judging glance back, Claude glared right back. 

“Guys, _c'mon_! It was just an accident! A little sleep will do her good, you know!” He called, loud. Fluttering a bit of birds in a tree nearby.

“Save it for when she finally wakes up, moron!” Hilda, not skipping a beat, hollering right back. 

He could continue, arguing his skills and abilities, but no one would listen. In fact, no one said much of anything to Claude again for the next hour of travel, leaving him to quietly _ dwell _ on the fact that he did, indeed, shoot his former professor, Alliance commander, and closest friend and confidant. In the chest. With an arrow laced with an untested, highly potent sedative (a poison he was quite proud of, but never _ quite _ got the chance to trial in the real world). Without taking the additional second of thought before drawing his bow and firing an arrow into the thick fog. Two heads unaccounted for and Claude never considered that she’d probably be on the trail of the bandit herself. _Of course Teach would run off to deal with matters on her own. She _**_always_ **_does that. _

He mumbled a displeased curse in some native tongue, but despite the inner battle he was currently raging with himself, he noticed that Marianne started to trail behind the rest of the group. Hands coiled effortlessly behind back, eyes set forward, she slowly came to pace with the Alliance leader. Sweet, never judging Marianne.

“Are you doing alright, Claude?” She said softly, almost like a whisper, but not uncharacteristic for the quiet healer. 

Just as the other former Golden Deer grew out of their teenage quirks as they entered adulthood, Marianne somehow outgrew all of them over the last five years. Whether it be in self-esteem, motivation, or a little of both, she was far from the overly timid teenager he knew all those years ago. She smiled more, shared stories over candle light in the dining hall, even spoke her mind from time to time. Somehow, her growth made it easier to actually _ talk _to her, something even Marianne would admit with a laugh. When Claude wondered what changed, it was Byleth that quietly told him the weight on her shoulders, and how she learned to accept herself. Even before the curse was broken, Marianne held her head higher. 

Grey eyes watched as Claude bound his hands behind his head, a laid-back, teenage quirk the young leader would never grow out of. “Oh, you know, catching the death glares from my so called _ friends _makes me feel pretty peachy.” A quick glance back over to her still calm face made him realize his tone was probably a little too sarcastic, so he sighed and looked back toward the path. “Sorry. I’m okay. Just a bit frustrated.” 

“Frustrated?” She asked, and from what it sounded like, with real curiosity. It was like Marianne couldn’t find a bad bone in anyone’s body, unless they were threatening literal death upon the lives of her friends or Dorte. But in this instance, even _ she _had to believe that Claude had no one to be upset with than himself. 

Rightly so.

“I shot Teach.” He said quickly. “With a tranquilizer arrow.” The very words leaving his tongue tasted bad, forcing him to wince. “And I didn’t even think to look _ twice _before drawing it.” 

“That’s what it seemed like.” She hummed softly. Without malice, of course, but the truth.

Some additional silence between them, and while it could be comfortable to Marianne, it was _ unbearable _for Claude. He replaced the emptiness with the same question that had been gnawing at him for the last couple hours. A question he suddenly wished he could profess to Byleth, but watching her swaying boots on the other side of Raphael’s arms, Marianne would have to do. 

His eyes caught the glare of the uncovered sun as he stared up, frustration on his brow. “What kind of leader can I be if I can’t stop my ego from getting in the way now?” 

His companion remained silent, perhaps unable to piece together the answer Claude was battling himself for. A sigh escaped him and he let his arms fall from behind his head. This unusual lack of confidence, something else he carried on his sleeve like a badge of honor, unnerved him. For more than 15 years, Claude von Riegan was _ always _two steps ahead, but now he felt like he was falling behind. The sudden realization of his pride. Leading was one thing, but…

_ What else have I done without giving a second thought? _

He glanced back, expecting her, too, to be staring down at him in prosecution, but her eyes were trained to the ground ahead. It took this unwavering stare to make Claude look forward, noticing a fallen tree lying across the road. An easy roadblock, but a roadblock nonetheless. 

And when Marianne reached for his hand, without question or second thought, Claude stepped ahead to lead her carefully over the obstacle. Once cleared, Marianne did not let go, rather, she laced her arm with Claude’s and they marched on, a leader and a disciple, side by side. 

“A great one, I think,” she finally said to him, a small smile unmoving from her lips. “You truly are more than your ego, more than you know, Claude… But, that doesn’t mean a just a bit of pride doesn’t go a long way.” When Claude blinked, perplexed, she continued. 

“I believe it’s your confidence brought us together after all this time. Your pride pushed us to support the Church and what remains of the Knights. You are proud because you know we can triumph over the Empire.” Who knew he’d be getting a little pep-talk from a girl who tried to shield herself from the world. It helped, though, when the lesson was starting to peel back the regret. Claude realized that Hilda was looking back at them with an interested expression.

She smiled, a glint of mischief in her eyes, and looked away.

“And despite what Lorenz might say…” A shrug fell off Marianne’s shoulders as she smoothed her free hand over the imaginary folds of her battle dress. “She wouldn’t be here without you.” 

She. 

Titles and names were left unsaid, but he knew. 

The enigma that he wanted to solve, the quiet and stoic but, _ somehow _deafening Byleth Eisner. 

An Ashen Demon then, an Enlightened One today. She was less impassive now than her days as their professor, smiling more, _ laughing even, _but even after missing for five solid years, her focus never seemed to falter. She continued to struggle beside them when the one-woman army could likely take on the entire Empire all on her own. Not because she was powerful and touched by the Goddess.

Because she carried the weight of the Rhea’s disappearance, Dimitri’s vengeance, and Edelgard’s bitterness on her shoulders. And, maybe she wanted to help Claude bring his dreams to reality, too.

Something distinctive sparked in his emerald eyes, his pride quickly, yet silently rising. _ She did come back for me… for us, for some reason, huh? _

The very idea made his heart swell. His other thoughts were quick to reign him back.

_ You almost shot her between the eyes. _

_ You almost felled the only influence you’d have to bring down the walls. _

_ You almost **killed **_ _your _ _closest friend. _

“She wouldn’t have been here a few hours ago, either.” He said softly, eyes down.

Marianne’s hand on his arm squeezed, gently. “We don’t believe that.” 

“And, who’s to say it doesn’t happen again?”

Suddenly, Marianne was pragmatic and Claude was staring at her like a fish. If he was not on the other end of this, he’d realize that she was spending a lot more time with Leonie, the terribly blunt, and Lysithea, the terribly mean. She had pulled her arm carefully away, too.

“Since you believe you’re so dangerous to the professor’s wellbeing, I imagine you’d have to keep your distance, then.” It kind of hurt. “You couldn’t sit next to her during strategizing. You might kick her under the table and shatter her femur. No more brainstorming after our meetings or your quiet moments shared with just her and tea. Hilda or Lorenz wouldn’t _ dare _ leave you alone with her.” Okay, it _ really _hurt.

If there was anything that Claude von Riegan was so sure of that summer day, it was he _ never _wanted any of that.

“She’d be troubled, for certain, but it’s the price you’d have to pay to make sure you never _ accidentally _shoot her with an arrow again, then.” 

Claude frowned, but he also had a familiar flare in his eye that came to life when he was provoked. A twitch in his eyebrow. And Marianne, kind eyes and soft features, stared back, determined.

“I’m sorry, but if you’re so _ concerned _ that you could possibly _ break _her, you will drive yourself mad and we may never see the end of this war.” 

As quickly as it flashed in his eyes, Claude’s anger faded with realization, and Marianne’s habitual demeanor returned. Quiet eyes, staring down at the grassy path. 

“Accidents are what make us human, Claude,” she said, like someone else told her the same exact thing, word for word, five years ago. “Knowing from my fair share of mishaps and accidents, they’ll only help you grow. They put you another step ahead before you could make the same mistake again.” Her grey eyes flashed back up to his, knowing that she had finally broke through. She softly smiled. “Now that you know to look _twice_, you’ll be an even _ better _leader.” 

As the fallen monastery gradually came to view, as their battalions diverged toward their own camps, the remaining Golden Deer slowed to walk through the rolling fields together. Leonie teasingly elbowed his side. Ignatz patted his back with a welcoming grin. Raphael laughed heartily at something Hilda said, another teasing quip at their _ expert _bowman.

In return, Claude had winked, hands bound behind his head once again, but the rest of their chatter fell on deaf ears. Instead, his attention was drawn to the peaceful, slumbering face surrounded by vibrant, starlight hair, a slow rise and fall in her chest. He silently promised he’d _ always _think to look twice, especially at her.

* * *

**_Chapter Epilogue. _ **

When Byleth finally woke, the thickness of slumber felt _ awfully _ similar to the years she spent under rubble and the sea of healing aura produced by the Goddess within her. So much so that before she even _ thought _ to check the calendar on her desk, the young woman flung herself from the layer of blankets, escaped out her bedroom, and ran headfirst into Claude, perhaps already heading in that direction. The very impact stunned her so (sleep will, in fact, dull even the _ sharpest _of senses) that he had to catch her shoulder before she tumbled back. A usual, Claude-like amusement was written all over his face. 

“Good morning! Have a nice nap, Teach?” 

His green eyes stared back at hers, and while he looked exactly how she remembered him (tall, the barely noticeable scar hidden on his forehead, dark hair _ almost _ too wild to tame, a line of facial hair framing his jaw _ nicely _), her eyes narrowed. 

“What year is it?”

“Oh, jeez… Teach.” He laid it on _ thick _ , but a playful twinkle in his eyes gave him away. “I don’t know if you can handle it… Are you sure you want to know?” The antics wouldn’t last long; she smacked his arm, hard. “_Ow! _1185!” 

She fell into her** usual **posture of processing her thoughts, accessing anything she could remember about the last few moments before blacking out. But, when nothing came from her untrustworthy, muddled memories, she glanced back to Claude. Despite nursing a spot on his arm that would bruise, he was grinning again. 

He seemed to know what’s going on.

“What happened?” 

“Well, my dear favorite Teach. You may had taken a blow with a bit of poison during the last skirmish.” He jerked his chin forward and her eyes followed to the bandage wrapped snugly around her shoulder. Adrenaline must had kicked in when she awoke. Out of usual Byleth-curiosity, she gave the spot an inquisitive poke, judging it. Tender, but healing. 

“Do you know with what?” 

“A blade, most likely. None of us saw it happen, but knowing how you usually compete with your foes, I imagine whoever got you was very, _ very _lucky. We did catch the tail end of your rampage when you passed out. Face first. Into the grass. I gotta admit, it was pretty amusing, Teach.” Her eyes lifted back to his face and he was winking with delight. She rolled her eyes back to her shoulder.

“Hilda and Ignatz were _ pretty _ worried, even Lorenz started to cry. But as I _ graciously _calmed the shaken nerves of our comrades with a reminder of your heroics, Marianne jumped into action, healing and wrapping your injury right there on the battlefield. Said you passing out was just a side effect of the poison the bandits were using. We, then, carried you home, tucked you into bed, and here we are. Two days later.” 

“And the bandits?” Listening, but not fully. Another curious tap-tap to the two-day wound, sending a flurry of pained, but ** _familiar _ **nerves to her brain.

“Taken care of. While we got you and the few wounded back to Garreg Mach, the remaining forces traveled further north to ensure they were properly dealt with. I just got the report they returned this morning with a couple stragglers.”

“Good,” she said, automatic response to her half-listening, rather, she was _ processing. _ A moment of silence and one final jab with her index finger affirmed her suspicions. The familiar feeling was her remembering _ exactly _ what any sort of _ blade _would feel like. 

“I don’t think I was caught with a blade, Claude.” She said. “It feels like I was struck by an arrow.”

When he said nothing, she glanced back to him, catching a sudden, paled expression. Not of dread or disturbance. Rather, a similar expression of being caught red-handed with his arm all the way in a cookie jar. His hands bound behind his head and he leaned back, looking away from the brief amusement on her face. 

The slightest bit of her eyebrow raised. “Well?”

“I-I said I didn’t see it, Teach.”

“I think you did, Claude.”

If Byleth had to wear him down in the middle of the sleeping quarters’ hallway, wearing nothing but her sleep clothes (non-revealing, but more freeing that her usual cape) after being in a coma for two days, she _ would_. If she had to twist his arm (literally) she _would_. He still refused to look at her, and she refused to play this game.

“Okay, maybe the monastery clerics said it was a dagger, but—”

“A _ child’s _dagger, maybe.” 

An uncomfortable laugh escaped him. “Oh, you know those clerics, saying all sorts of nonsensical, cleric-e stuff.”

“I know what an arrow injury feels like.” 

“Oh.” A forced mumble escaped him, a bit of awkward quivering somewhere in his eyes, and after a moment of painful-Byleth-staring, he cracked. “Okay, yes. It was an arrow.” 

She crossed her arms and shifted her weight on her bare feet. “And, since you felt the need to conceal something in plain sight, I can only assume **you **had something to do with this, correct?”

He said nothing. 

“_Claude_.” She breathed his name; this time in that firm, authoritative _ professor _voice. 

His cheeks flared red and the words came tumbling out.

“Maybe— I mean, yes.” He said with a wince. “When you were after the bandit commander, I… may or may not have… shot-an-arrow-in-your-direction.”

“An arrow that hit **me**.” She said. 

“Yes.”

“You shot an arrow at me.” 

“I did.”

With that, it didn’t take long for Byleth to piece together the events of the skirmish: the wild chase after the screaming bandit, a streak of blue slicing perfectly through the blanket of fog, the precision of the arrow striking her shoulder, the numbing of poison taking over before she had a moment to _think_.

Her eyes glowed with one final conclusion. 

“Good job.” She said, a smile forming on her lips.

Claude just stared, wide-eyed.

“Moving targets, the layer of fog, the forest — your accuracy has gotten better.” She was, for more or less, impressed with the archer. Her hand fell upon her shoulder once more, assessing the sensitivity of broken skin and nerves. “I think you’ll need to reduce the potency of that new tranquilizer, though. Two days is much too long, Claude, bandits or not.”

**Author's Note:**

> All of this was for me. I had an idea, was supposed to make it humorous, but then it got deep and a little sad. Then I thought, why not get everyone to help out? Starting with Marianne, sweet and precious sunshine child.
> 
> I believe that when Marianne grew up, she became so confident that she gave "Respect Yo Self" seminars on Sundays. I also love some great platonic, A+ friendships. They are *kisses fingers like a chef* amazing.


End file.
